


Communion

by somekindofseizure



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Easter, F/M, MSR, Post-Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6450490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somekindofseizure/pseuds/somekindofseizure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a prompt:  "I got you a present."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Communion

 

The parking lot is packed and silent but for the sounds of hard shoes on the asphalt, the last few stragglers rushing into the church.  Men tugging the cuffs of their shirts out under their jackets, old ladies holding onto their bonnets in the spring breeze.  It makes her think of her mother, and she stretches her eyes to avoid letting tears form in them.  Scully is three blocks away by the time she finds a place to put the car.

She pulls a blazer over her sleeveless dress and tugs the neckline toward her collarbone, self-conscious that it’s too tight, too low-cut for the occasion.  There was a time her closet was full of church clothes, pastel and modest, floral dresses for Easter and cashmere red sweaters at Christmas.  But it’s not like that anymore.

They used to argue about it.  He rarely went with her.  When he did, he came home somber and angry, full of serious questions.  When she went alone, he asked the same questions, but tried to sound like he was teasing her.  How did she reconcile her beliefs with science?  How could she support an institution does this, does that?  She would fight him tooth and nail, ready for the debate every single time.  But over time, she noticed the adamancy in her voice was becoming a façade.  Over time, it became easier to stay in bed with him, or go for a jog, or read the paper, to think about God in her own way, on her own terms.

But he’s out of town on work in Upstate New York until this evening, and she’s taken the opportunity to come to church in peace.  She’s clicking down the sidewalk in nude heels, patent leather just like the ones she wore when she was a child, equally uncomfortable though much more expensive and with a much sharper heel.  She remembers standing at the back of the crowded parish on holidays, the way she’d rub her feet together to hear them squeak.   _Don’t do that, you’ll scruff them,_ her mother would say.  It took owning a pair of Louboutins to really teach her the lesson.

Her phone buzzes half a block from the church, just as the bells toll, letting her know she’s officially late.  She doubts Mulder knows what day it is, much less that it’s Easter.  Christmas is easier for him because it’s always the same, this holiday is completely off his radar. Maybe if _Exodus_ is on when they’re cuddling and watching TV later, he’ll realize it and throw her a _Happy Easter._

**_Mulder 9:03 AM: I got you a present._ **

**_Scully 9:05 AM:  I hope it’s a snow globe of Niagara Falls._ **

She enters the church parking lot from the back end, approaching the side of the building at a brisk pace.  She hopes to see a few other latecomers to make her feel less alone in creeping into house of God ten minutes late.  She turns the corner to the front of the building and yes, there is someone.

Mulder.  In a dark suit and tie, his hands in his pockets, clucking a hard candy in his mouth.  “You’re late,” he says.

She smiles and blinks hard, blocking the sun from her eyes to make sure she’s not mistaken.  He kisses her head as she takes his hand, lowering her voice further with each step toward the doors.

“This is my present?” she asks, stunned.  “Why?”

“I don’t know.  I wanted to take you to church,” he says. “I think I probably owe you an hour for something _you_ believe and I don’t.”

“It usually runs an hour and a half on Easter.”

“Shit,” he whispers in her ear and she nudges him.

Two hours later, she’s walking up the front porch of the house, her empty stomach burning through a communion wafer, begging her for pancakes. _Later_ , she tells it.  Because as he opens the door and steps inside, she grabs his jacket and pulls him back against the door, slamming it shut with the combined weight of their bodes. She makes quick work of his tie as she kisses him, then reaches for the zipper on the side of her dress.

“What are you doing?” he asks, mystified, as if he’s walked into a dream.  She drops the dress and leans the back of her head on the wall as she pulls his body against hers.

“Taking _you_ to church.”


End file.
